


Tombstone

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair's relationship evolves in the face of William Ellison's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tombstone

## Tombstone

by Pink Dragon

Not mine. If they were, Jim's loft would be decorated a lot less gay.

"T" in the ABC Series. Not betaed, all mistakes are mine. Feed the Dragon.

* * *

"Jim, Blair, can you come in here a minute?" Simon asks, standing in the doorway to his office. We look at each other; Simon doesn't usually call us by our first names. We shrug, walk in his office, and sit when we're invited to. "Jim, I'm sorry to have to tell you this." Simon looks very unhappy and he keeps glancing worriedly at me. He's standing in front of his desk, rather than sitting. "Cascade General just called. Your father's there. He apparently had a heart attack." 

I hear a sharp intake of breath from Jim, but he doesn't say anything. "Oh no, Jim. We better get up there, man," I say and start toward the door. 

"Wait a minute, Blair," Simon says quietly. So I sit back down, looking at him questioningly. He sighs deeply and says softly, "I'm sorry, Jim. He didn't make it." 

Jim makes a sort of choking sound, grips the arms of the chair he's sitting in and turns a little pale. "What?" he says softly, looking confused. 

"I'm really sorry. Your father passed away. They're pretty sure it was a heart attack. The gardeners found him this morning and called the paramedics, but it was too late. They need to see you at the hospital. Something about having a family member identify him." 

Jim looks over at me, his face empty of emotion. I tell Simon, "I'll take care of it, Simon." I reach out and put one hand on Jim's arm and tell him, "Come on, Jim. I'll take you to the hospital." 

As I'm leading a stunned Jim out of the office, Simon comes to his door and says gruffly, "Blair, you both take whatever time you need. I don't want to see either of you in here the rest of this week." 

"Sure, Simon," I say. "I'll call you later." 

"Thanks, Blair. And Jim? I really am sorry." Jim just nods his head without looking back at Simon and follows me to the elevator. 

When we get down to the parking garage and near the truck, Jim holds the keys out to me and climbs in the passenger seat. He is silent the entire way to the hospital. 

When we get there, an orderly takes Jim down to the morgue to identify William's body, and I go to the emergency room to talk to the nurse that had called with the news. She is still there, and busy, but she takes a minute to talk to me. She had checked William for identification, and found Jim's name and phone number in his wallet as his emergency contact. Thanks to our many regular visits to her establishment, she knew exactly who Detective James J. Ellison was, and having the gentle heart of a caregiver, she called Human Resources at the Cascade Police Department and they called Simon Banks to break the news. I thank her for that, for her consideration, and go back to wait for Jim. 

It doesn't take long for him to get back from the morgue. I look at him inquiringly, and he just nods. He looks pale and drawn and I say, "Come on, Jim. Let's get home. We need to call Steven and probably your dad's attorney, too. Do you know who that is?" 

He says, "Yeah, I know. He's always used the same firm," and he follows me out to the truck, getting back into the passenger seat. He lays his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. 

Before I start the truck, I reach over and squeeze his shoulder and tell him, "I'm sorry, man. I'm really sorry." 

He reaches up and pats my hand and says quietly, "Thanks, Blair." He doesn't say anything else the rest of the way home. 

When we get home, Jim goes outside to sit on the patio while I call Steven, who is shocked but not much more emotional than Jim has been. Then I call William's attorney, who, due to her firm's long association with the Ellison family, is at the loft within an hour with a briefcase full of documents. She is young and lovely, cool and professional, and very, very competent. 

She told us that all the arrangements had already been made for William's funeral, including catering the fucking thing, (my words, not hers.) All we had to do was set the date and time, and show up. She had already spoken to the hospital and she told me that since William had died alone, there would have to be an autopsy. It was scheduled for Wednesday, so we decided to have the funeral on Friday. She had a list of people to call to let them know about William's death and said her firm would take care that, too. William was very thorough when planning his death. It's creepy. 

Finally we were done. I thank her, Jim thanks her and she leaves after setting up an appointment to meet in her office the following Monday to go over William's will and estate. Steven will need to be there, too. She says everything is pretty straightforward. There are to be a few donations to favorite charities, then the rest of the estate is to be divided equally between Steven and Jim. The only thing we really need to decide is what to do with William's house. Jim wants to just "sell the monstrous fucker" but I encourage him to take some time to make that decision and I remind him he needs to talk to Steven about it anyway. He grudgingly agrees. After that, we don't have much else to do but wait. 

We spend the rest of the day just lounging around. Jim doesn't say much. He spends a lot of time on the patio, just looking out toward the ocean. I don't try to get him to talk, and I go out of my way to not be solicitous with him. I know it would only piss him off. Jim's single show of emotion is when I tell him how the gardeners had found William in the rose garden. Apparently he liked to take care of his roses himself. Jim grinds out between gritted teeth, "his precious fucking roses" or something to that effect, and the rest of the day he is cool as ice. 

About three o'clock Jim comes in from the patio and says, "I'm gonna take a nap, Chief." He heads up the stairs to his bedroom and I can hear him getting undressed and getting settled in bed. I decide a nap sounds pretty good. I go in the kitchen and pour myself a glass of juice, go in my bedroom and strip down to boxers and a tee shirt. I sit on the edge of my bed, drinking my juice, and wondering when Jim is gonna blow. I know it's going to happen, I just don't know how or when. I finish my juice, shrug my shoulders and think, "Oh well. When it happens, it happens." I climb under the covers and am asleep within seconds. 

I wake up around five o'clock that afternoon. It's wonderful to be able to have a nice long afternoon nap. I haven't been able to do that in months. Then I remember why I'm home on a Monday afternoon, and I feel guilty for having enjoyed it. 

I can hear Jim in the kitchen. I finally drag myself up, throw on some sweatpants, and join him at the table. I guess he heard me getting up cause there's a cup of coffee waiting for me. 

"Thanks, man," I say. He doesn't look like he rested at all. 

"Sure," he says, and smiles sadly at me. 

"Did you get any sleep?" I ask him. 

"Uh, not really." He picks up the newspaper and his coffee and takes it to the sofa, and I follow him. He hands me a couple of sections of the paper and we sit there for half an hour or so, just reading the newspaper and sipping our coffee, and talking quietly about different articles we're reading. Finally he turns on the television and we spend the rest of the evening pretty much like we always do. 

At 11:00, Jim says, "I'm gonna hit the sack, Sandburg." He gets up, stretches, and goes in the bathroom for a couple of minutes. When he gets over to the bottom of the stairs, he turns, says "Goodnight, Chief." 

"Night, Jim," I say, watching him over my shoulder. 

Then he turns away from me, but before he starts up the stairs he says softly, "Thanks, Blair." 

"You're welcome." I whisper back. He nods his head and goes on up to bed without looking at me. 

^^^^^ 

I come awake from a sound sleep to find Jim standing in the door to my room. The light is on in the kitchen and he's standing there holding half a dozen boxes of tea bags, looking down at them forlornly. "Which one, Blair?" 

"Which one what, man?" I look at the clock and it's well after midnight. 

"I can't sleep, Blair!" He holds the boxes of tea out for me to look at. "Which fucking tea makes me sleep?!" Well, seems blow-up time has arrived. "I should be able to smell which one it is! What the fuck is wrong with me? I can't fucking smell the sleep tea, Blair!" 

Of course, I'm out of bed by then, stroking his arms and his back, then pulling the tea boxes out of his hands. "It's three of them mixed together, Jim. That's why you can't smell which one it is." 

"Oh. Fuck, Blair, I can't sleep. I just wanted a cup of that tea you make for me when I can't sleep." He's whining. 

"It's okay, Jim. I'll fix it for you. Come sit down. You don't even have the right boxes, man, just let me do it." I pull him over to my bed and push till he's sitting on the edge. "Just wait here, I'll get it for you." He just nods his head and looks back at me dejectedly. 

I go in the kitchen and fill the kettle with water. I put it on to heat and put away five of the boxes of tea and take out two others. I take out one teabag from each box and drop them in the teapot. I stand there in the kitchen for a few minutes while the water heats then I pour the boiling water over the tea bags and stand there another couple of minutes while it steeps. I take down two mugs and pour us each a cup full. I add a little sugar to Jim's, chop an ice cube in half with the ice pick and put one little piece in each mug to cool it off enough to drink. I pick up both mugs, flick the kitchen light off with my elbow and head back into my bedroom. I stop in the doorway, dumbfounded. Jim is curled up in my bed, his head on my pillow. The covers are pulled up under his chin and he's sound asleep. "Well, fuck." Not that I have a problem having Jim in my bed, but this isn't exactly how I fantasized it happening. 

I walk over and put the mugs down on the floor next to the bed, sit on the edge, and shake Jim's shoulder. "Hey, man. Wake up. Tea's done." I feel silly waking him up to drink tea that's supposed to help him sleep. 

He opens his eyes, gazes sleepily at me, slides over to the far side of the bed and whispers "Stay..." Then one hand comes out from under the covers and tugs on mine. "Please...." he whispers. Then his eyes close and he's asleep again. So I climb in under the covers, pull the other pillow over for my head and snuggle down as close to Jim as I can get without actually wrapping myself around him. I try to ignore the beginnings of a hard-on and in a few minutes I'm sound asleep. 

^^^^^ 

When I wake up Tuesday morning, he's gone. I can smell coffee, so I roll out of bed, pull on my robe, and hit the bathroom. Then I pour myself a mug of coffee and wander out to the patio where Jim is sitting with his own mug and the newspaper. 

"Morning," I say, rubbing the back of his shoulder as I pass. 

"Morning, Chief. You want some of this?" he asks as he holds out part of the paper to me. 

"Sure, man." I take it, and we sit there drinking our coffee and reading the paper. 

A while later Jim says, "I called Steven this morning. We're going to get together at the house today and see what there is we might want to keep. You can come if you want." 

"Maybe just you and Steven should do that, man. That's kind of family stuff, you know?" 

"I'd like for you to come, Chief," he says softly, looking out toward the ocean, avoiding my gaze. 

"Okay, sure. I can do that," I say. "Want some more coffee?" He holds his mug out and I take it, going in to get us both a refill. 

When I get back outside he takes the full mug and says gruffly, "Thanks, Blair." 

"Hey, man, no sweat." I know he's not just talking about the coffee, but this is the kind of thing I can't make a big deal out of or he'll freak. 

We spend the day going through stuff at William's house, Jim piling several big boxes of childhood mementos into the back of the truck. Steven is there, doing the same thing we are so we take several more boxes of his stuff over to his house for him. We eat leftovers out of William's kitchen for lunch. We all pointedly avoid the rose garden. Steven takes us all out for dinner that night, and it's late when we get home. We both go straight to bed. 

^^^^^ 

"Blair." 

"Wha..." I roll over and squint at the clock. It's two o'clock in the morning and Jim is in my doorway again. 

"I can't sleep." 

"You want me to make you a cup of tea?" 

He walks over to the side of my bed and stands there, looking down at me. "No, I don't want tea. I... I want..." 

He can't say it, but I know what he wants. I throw back the covers on the bed, scoot over toward the wall and he climbs in next to me with a sigh. He finally gets settled, on his side with his back to me. I do what I always do when he needs it; I reach out and rub one hand on his back. He makes a soft sound of pleasure, so I do it again. He rolls over till he's mostly on his stomach and I know what he needs, so I rub his bare back, slowly, soothingly, gentling him into sleep. By the time he's asleep I'm hard as a rock. I climb out of bed as quietly as possible, shut the bathroom door behind me and jerk off hard and fast, slumping back against the wall when I come in my hand. I clean myself up a little and slip back in bed beside him. He never stirs. 

^^^^^ 

He's gone again by the time I wake up Wednesday morning. 

We have another relatively normal day, considering that Jim's father is being autopsied today. We spend the day reading the paper, watching TV. Jim wants to go in to work, but Simon threatens him with desk duty, so we just stay home. We go for a walk along the beach later in the day. The high-pressure ridge is holding steady and it's another beautiful, warm day. Jim buys us fish and chips and cold beer at the fish market for dinner. We walk home full of good food, content being with each other. 

When we get home there's a message on the answering machine from William's attorney that the results of the autopsy are in. William died from a massive heart attack, just like the emergency room nurse thought. His body has been released to the mortuary, and will be ready for the funeral Friday morning. 

We spend the rest of the evening watching television. Not really much on TV on Wednesday that we like. Jim seems to get more and more jittery the later it gets and I finally catch on. He wants to sleep in my bed again, but he doesn't know how to ask. So I let him off the hook. At 10:00 I get up and check the lock on the front door, turn out the light in the kitchen, then I stop at the end of the hall that goes to my room, and say, "I'm heading to bed Jim. Um, if you want... um, you can...." 

"Yeah, Chief, I'll be right there," he says softly, sounding relieved. I go in the bedroom and get undressed down to my boxers. Sleeping with Jim is like having the oven on full blast right next to you. The man puts out body heat like you wouldn't believe. All those lovely muscles, I guess. He finally comes out of the bathroom, strips off his robe and climbs into bed next to me. He watches me while he gets settled in. "Blair?" he whispers. 

"Yeah?" 

"Would you rub my back again? It helps me sleep." 

"Sure, Jim. Roll over on your stomach." So he rolls over with a sigh, pillows his head on his arms and I decide I might as well do this right. So I sit up next to him, and start in on his shoulders. I give him a good firm backrub for about one minute before I discover that I really like doing this. I mean really, really like it. His skin is baby soft, and the muscles in his back are hard, tight, under my fingers. I massage the knots out of them while he lies there quietly, breathing deeply. God, he's so beautiful. My libido is getting interested in the whole proceedings and I try to ignore it. Jim doesn't need that, or want that; he just needs to sleep. So I keep rubbing his back and trying to ignore my growing erection. Finally I feel like I've given him a really thorough massage and I lie down next to him and try to settle in to sleep. 

Then Jim sighs and he rolls onto his side facing away from me. Then he reaches back and runs his hand down my arm till it reaches my hand and he grabs it. He pulls my arm over him, clasping my hand against his chest and he sighs again softly. So I just cuddle against his back and tell my libido to behave. I try to keep my erection from poking Jim in the butt. It's quite a while before I get to sleep myself. 

^^^^^ 

He's gone again in the morning. It's Thursday now, nothing to do today, as far as the funeral goes, that is. So we spend the day pretty much like we did Wednesday. We walk to the beach again. It seems to relax Jim, though he's still awfully quiet. We spend some time going through the boxes we brought from William's house. Jim shows me pictures of himself as a child and tells me stories about all the things he brought home with him. At bedtime I get up, turn off the television, and hold my hand out to him. He takes it and follows me to bed. 

We climb in under the covers and I whisper. "Roll over and I'll rub your back." He settles onto his stomach and I give him a nice long backrub. He makes soft sounds of pleasure, and after a few minutes he gasps, clenching his fists in the sheet underneath him. Then I realize that he's breathing hard, his back rising and falling with each breath hissing from his lungs. He turns on his side, facing away from me and pulls my hand over his body, pulling me against his back, and presses my hand against his erection and he chokes out, "Please...." He's got his face pressed into the pillow and he's hard, and he holds my hand over his erection and gasps, "Finish it, Blair... please...." 

So I curl up around him, press my face against his back and whisper "It's okay, Jim, it's okay." I slip my hand inside his boxers and stroke him, steady and sure. 

He leans back against me, and moans, "So long, Blair...." 

"What Jim?" I whisper back. 

He whispers forlornly, "God, Blair. So long since anyone touched me like this. It's been so fucking long..." 

I think to myself, I'll touch you like this, Jim, anytime you want, but I don't say it out loud. "It's okay," I whisper back. "It's okay." I slowly pull my hand away from his erection and I stroke it up and down his chest, down his side and his arm, over his hip and his thigh, then back to his chest. He sighs, and moves against my hand, pressing against it, then moving back to rest against my body. I keep touching him, stroking him anywhere I can reach. I press my face against his back and I say quietly, "It's okay, Jim. Everyone needs to be touched. To have someone's hands touch you with love... that's something we all need." 

I pet his hair and stroke my fingertips over his face. I rub his nipples gently, till they're erect, and he sighs, then gasps, when I move my hand back to his erection. I go back to stroking him, steady and sweet, and in a minute, he comes in my hand, gasping, "Blair..." 

When he's done coming I pull my hand out of his shorts and shove it in mine and start stroking myself. But Jim apparently thinks, even after what I said, that he's freaked me out, cause he starts to get out of bed and gasps, "I'm sorry, Blair, god I'm sorry..." 

So I do what any normal-red-blooded-in-love-with-his-partner-Guide would do. I grab his arm with the hand that isn't jerking myself off and I drag him back down next to me and I hiss at him, "Get the fuck back here and finish what you started, man...." 

He falls down on the bed beside me, he's eyes going down to where my hand is stroking my erection. Then he chokes out, "God, Blair..." and he gently pulls my hand away and slips his hand inside my boxers and strokes me fast and tight. 

I throw my head back on the pillow and come, sighing his name, "Jim...." 

When I can think again, I find Jim cleaning me off with a tee shirt he must have found on the floor. "Jesus, Jim." 

H smiles at me a little and rubs his thumb over my cheek. Then he settles down on the bed next to me, one arm wrapped over my waist, and in a minute he's fast asleep. 

^^^^^ 

It's a beautiful day for a funeral, sunny and warm with a nice offshore breeze. Couldn't ask for a better day for a funeral. 

Jim and Steven bury their father today, on this beautiful, sunny summer day. 

It's a lovely funeral, a beautiful casket, gorgeous flowers, elegant, understated, and very, very cold. No one cries. No one sings. A couple of William's former business associates get up to "say a few words about the dearly departed," as the undertaker so coolly refers to William Ellison. Jim and his brother are formally polite to one another, and the other guests. The second I get more than two feet away from Jim, his eyes seek me out, and I move back to where I can touch him, and he can touch me, if he needs to. 

William is buried in a beautiful old cemetery, where much to Jim and Steven's surprise, there is a whole family plot, all fenced off with a low stone wall with an elegantly engraved plaque saying "Ellison." There's plenty of room to bury six or eight people. It totally creeps me out. 

William's tombstone is plain; just his name and date of birth and date of death. Nothing personal or sentimental, just plain cold stone. Just what he'd picked out for himself. Jim and I had talked about adding something to it, something to make it more personal. But we finally decided that if that's what he wanted, then we'd leave it. 

The funeral is finally over. Jim is sitting, exhausted, in the living room of William's house, occasionally standing to thank someone for coming and to shake hands. I show the departing guests to the door, and soon it's just Jim, Steven, Simon, Megan, Joel, and me. 

Simon comes over to Jim and says, "Why don't you and Steven go home, Jim? We'll all pitch in and clean up around here and lock up." He turns to look at me and says, "Blair, take him home." 

"Sure, Simon," I answer. "Steven, we'll see you Monday at the attorney's office right?" 

"Yeah, Blair. I'm gonna take off, too." Then he says softly, so Jim won't hear (he thinks,) "Thanks for taking care of Jim." 

"Hey, no problem, man, you take care too, huh?" Steven pulls me into a hug and I hug him back. Jim just watches with no expression at all. Then Steven is gone and I turn back to Jim. "Come on man, let's go home, huh? Simon and the guys are gonna clean up and lock up the house." 

He just nods, gets up, and follows me to the door where he turns around and looks back at Simon and says softly, "Thanks, Simon." I follow him out to the truck where he again hands me the keys and gets silently into the passenger seat, laying his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes. He stays like that all the way home. 

When we get in the loft he goes upstairs and changes into sweatpants and a tee shirt. I take off my suit and put on shorts and a tank top. Jim lies down on the sofa to take a nap and I sit on the other end, pulling his feet into my lap. I read while Jim naps, and I find myself stroking his sock-clad feet while he sleeps. 

When he finally wakes up, I'm sitting out on the patio, catching the last of the sun on my face. "Hey," he says, sitting down in the chair next to mine and stretching his arms over his head. 

"Hey, man. Have a good nap?" 

"Yeah, I did," he says smiling at me. I think it's the first time he's smiled all week. 

"What?" I say, smiling back. 

"You were rubbing my feet." 

"Well, you take up the whole sofa, you big lug. I had to put 'em somewhere. What was I supposed to do? It was either rub 'em or tickle 'em." He just grins at me and turns his face to the sun. 

"Are you hungry?" I ask him. 

"Mmm, a little. What have we got?" 

"Megan packed a bunch of leftovers for us. I can warm that up." 

"Sure, sounds okay." 

So I warm up ham and some delicious roasted garlic mashed potatoes, and buttered, herbed mixed vegetables. William sure knew how to pick a caterer for his funeral. There's a bag of rosemary dinner rolls, so I stick some of those in the oven to warm, too. We eat in front of the television. Watch something on the Discovery Channel that I had been looking forward to. When I get up to go to bed, Jim follows along behind me. He curls up next to me, one arm over my waist, and in a couple of minutes we're both sound asleep. It has, after all, been a very long day. 

^^^^^ 

I'm cold. It's fucking freezing in here and Jim's gone. I roll over and check the clock. It's four o'clock in the morning. I scramble out of bed and pull my robe on and go looking for him. Fuck, no wonder it's cold. He's out on the patio, with the door wide open. I walk up next to him and put one hand on his arm. "Jim? What's going on, man? You okay?" 

He turns and looks at me. He's crying, tear tracks running down both cheeks. He doesn't say anything; he just looks at me with tears running down his face. I take the edge of my sleeve and dry his face off, but the tears keep coming. So I pull him into my arms and his head comes down and he rests it against mine. His arms go around my waist, tight, and I hold him there and stroke his back while he cries silently, his body shaking with the grief he can finally let out. "I'm sorry, Jim," I whisper to him. "I'm so sorry." There are so many things I could say to him, but he doesn't need platitudes. He just needs me to be here for him. So I hold him till he's done crying. 

Finally, he tries to pull away from me, whispering, "I'm sorry, Blair, I'm okay. I'm sorry." 

But I hold him tight against me and tell him, "Hey, it's okay. It's okay," while I stroke his back, and his hair and his shoulders. "You ready to come back to bed, now?" 

"Yeah, yeah. I need a tissue." 

I tug him back into the loft, push the door shut and pull four tissues out of the box by the sofa and hand them to him. He blows his nose and dries his face off, carefully not looking at me. "Think you can sleep now, big guy?" I ask him, smiling a little at him, letting him know we're okay. 

"Yeah. Sure," he says. He turns and moves hesitantly toward the stairs to his bedroom, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the living room, feeling bereft. But if this is what he wants, what he needs, now, I'll let him have it, let him go. When he gets to the staircase, he stops with one foot on the bottom step, his back to me and his head down, and he whispers, "Come with me...." and he reaches one hand back towards me, and waits. 

Aw, god. I can't get there fast enough to suit either one of us. He turns to look at me just as I reach out for his hand. He grabs my hand, twining his fingers with mine, smiles sadly at me, and we go upstairs together, watching each other the entire way. When we get upstairs and halfway across the bedroom towards the bed, he lets go of my hand, points to the other side of the bed, away from the stairs. Of course, the Sentinel would have to be between the Guide and anything dangerous that might be coming up the stairs. Like murderous dust bunnies bent on revenge, I guess. I grin at him and he smiles back. We climb in bed, under the covers. I curl up on my side and he spoons up behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist. In a few minutes we're both sound asleep. 

^^^^^ 

When I wake up this time, Jim is still there. Not only is he still there, he's sucking on the back of my neck and rubbing my left nipple, and I'm hard. I groan and arch into his touch, reaching one hand behind me to touch whatever part of him I can reach. My hand closes around his penis, he's hard too. "No..." he whispers, "Not yet." He pulls my hand away from his erection and places it on the bed in front of me and pats it twice. "Just let me touch you...please...." I moan again and try to turn around to face him. "No, stay there, please just stay there and let me touch you the way you touched me." Aw, god. 

"Ah, Jim, s'good, man, feels so good." He's got his hand on my erection now and he's stroking me slowly. Rubbing his thumb over the liquid pooling at the tip and spreading it around the head, slick and warm. 

"God, Blair," he whispers, his mouth right next to my ear, "I love you like this." 

"Wha..." I mumble. I'm beyond speech at this point. 

He chuckles, and slides his other arm underneath me, his fingers going straight to my nipples again, the other hand still on my penis. "I love you like this, with your back against my chest. This is going to be my favorite way to make love to you, spooned behind you so I can hold you tight in my arms and still touch you, play with your nipples, stroke you like this, feel you move against my hands. Feel you move against my body. God, Blair, you're so beautiful." Oh god. He's planning on doing this again! I can feel his erection pressing against my butt and I try to reach around again and touch him. "No, Blair... just wait. Just let me... please...." 

So I let him. I just rest both my hands on his arms, and let him touch me. Oh, it's wonderful. He knows just what to do, just how hard to stroke me, just how hard to pinch and twist my nipples, just how to cup and roll my testicles against his palm, just how softly to trail his fingertips down the inside of my thigh. When I'm right on the edge of coming, he takes his hand off my nipples, tips my face back towards his, and his mouth comes down on mine. He's kissing me, and then I'm coming, and he's still kissing me, his tongue stroking sweet and wet against mine. I'm still coming when I gasp his name against his mouth. When I'm finally done he rolls me over on my back, holds my face in his hands and he looks down at me so tenderly, so sweetly. Then he smiles at me and whispers. "I love you, Blair. I love you." And he kisses me again, deep and hard and demanding, taking, possessing my mouth, holding my face still with both hands while he kisses his fill, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones while his tongue strokes against mine. 

He's got one leg thrown over my body and I can feel his hardness against my thigh. He's moving against me, and then he's coming, and kissing me and coming and I pull my mouth away from his, and tell him fiercely, "I love you, I love you, love you, love you...." till he's done coming and he collapses against my chest, my arms tight around him. I hold him there with his head on my shoulder while he catches his breath and I tell him, "You're not alone, Jim. I'm here. I'll always be here. I love you. You'll never be alone. I love you." When he lifts his head from my shoulder, his eyes are suspiciously bright. But I figure with what he's been through this week he has a right to be a little emotional. 

He cups my cheek in his hand and whispers to me, "You know, I've been thinking about tombstones." 

"Oh, ick, Jim. Way to start the day, man," I say softly, grinning at him. 

"No, Blair, I'm serious. I've been thinking about what I'd like to have on my tombstone, when I die." 

Now he's pissing me off. "Knock it the fuck off, Jim. This isn't the time to be talking about dying, man. We've had enough of death this week." 

"No, listen. You need to hear this," he says insistently, and then very tenderly he says, "Or maybe I just need to tell you this." 

"Well, what?" I answer when he doesn't say anything more. 

"What I want on my tombstone, when I die. I want it to say my name, my birth date, my death date and then I want it to say," and now he's whispering, "Beloved of Blair Jacob Sandburg." Oh, wow. 

"Aw, man." Now I'm getting a little emotional. "And when I die," I say back, "I want my tombstone to say "Blair Jacob Sandburg, Beloved of James Joseph Ellison."" 

"Love you, Blair," he whispers, "Till the day I die." 

"Love you too, Jim. Forever." 

Then he grins at me and says, "You're right. That's a pretty morbid way to start the day." 

I grin back at him and smack him on the butt and say, "Okay, for that you can buy me breakfast." 

"You got it, babe." 

"Mmm, I think we both got it, man," I say back. He grins at me, rolls out of bed, grabs my hands, and pulls me up after him. I follow him downstairs and right into the shower. I think to myself, "I'll follow you anywhere, Jim. Anywhere." 

* * *

End Tombstone by Pink Dragon: pinkdragon456@aol.com

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